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They tower over me, spreading darkness. One of my five senses are dampened by these walls, rendering me blind. I can only feel, smell, taste and hear.

Tasting my way out of this place is not an option. I only smell the reek of my own making. So that leaves hearing and feeling.

I take care not to alarm anyone outside. I listen closely, trying to understand where I am and who my captor is.

This is probably something I should have asked myself a long ago. You know, when I was put in here. But I feel like I was too young. Like an infant. Now, I am like an adult and it is probably too late. But this is not my end. This is not where I give up. I am going to get out.

I can hear something outside, it’s an annoying noise. Kind of like a child, playing. I wonder why, of all things, I hear a child. I should hear my parents, or my captives, or terrorists. I should hear a deep, dark voice. Almost sinister. I should hear laughter, growls and evil plans being concocted about my fate. I should hear madness. Chaos. Infinite doom.

Instead, I hear a child. Is this psychological torture? Is a child my infinite doom?

There is a sudden shake. The whole room moves. It’s like an earthquake. The walls are shaking, I am falling all over the place inside the room. In the darkness, I see nothing. I can barely feel a thing except my surroundings. I feel my smooth, milky skin. I feel the grimy, metallic walls. I feel the smooth floor. I feel trapped.

Another shake. Another earthquake. I find my heart in severe palpitation. I panic.

I want to scream, I want to shout. But what will that do? I will probably be killed. Or worst, tortured.

So I keep quiet and try to find out what is happening. I listen. Silently.

A chuckle. This chuckle is also shrill, and childish but a little more pronounced. This chuckle seems to originate from an older child. It was saying something.

“… I have one too,” says the second voice. The older child chuckles once more.

“No! You don’t.” says the first voice and suddenly, there is a yell. No, a scream. The child seems to be calling for its parents.

Can they be my captor? Is this my chance?

Footsteps. “Leave it alone,” says a third voice. I can’t quite figure out who it is. Is it male? Is it female? Is it young or old?

I cry. Silent, of course.

I feel a million years in my tears. It’s as if this captivity has made me mature.

I think of ways to get out. I know there is only one. The hole.

You see, my first week here (or was it a month?), I was chilled out. I thought this would be just a fun, temporary place. Kind of like a game. I never thought I had been captured. It was more of a peekaboo kind of deal.

Then, slowly it dawned on me: I had been kidnapped. I couldn’t remember who I had been before. It was like my whole constitution had been changed. I was no longer who I had been before the capture. Now, I was different.

They had experimented on me. They had injected me with things. And now, they had confined me to a dark cell. Probably for eternity.

Once realization dawned, so did the immediate desire to jump to action. And so, I felt around. And when I did so, I felt it. A hole.

It, at first, seemed like a depression in the ceiling. Like a chimney maybe? But circular and without a column or a fireplace. It was soft. The whole ceiling had been made of a metallic sheet but this small hole like area was made out of a soft material… Like felt or cling film. It didn’t make sense. What was it purpose?

But then again, what was mine?

I was waiting for the hole to magically open up. I was hoping for a ladder to descend down to my rescue. And that some detectives would be my rescuers.

But that day had never come. And now I was here. The earthquakes. The heat. I was no longer chilled out. I was boiling in this hot, dark room.

I waited and waited and waited. It was all in vain. My mind immediately jumped to the worst (and the most probable) of the outcomes: I would probably die and wither away in here. I would just wait here, as my body would turn into worm food and then I would probably die. Peacefully? Or in pain? Would the hunger kill me? Or would my expanded bowels? Would my bladder explode? Or would my skin curdle like sour milk.

I wanted to cry more, but was too tired to do anything else. I knew there was no hope because, now, everything had — OH FUCK!

*

Part two: White – Outside

Freedom.

Sweet sweet freedom.

As sudden as I had been captured, that is how I was released as well. One second, I had been contemplating death, the next second I was thrown out of the room by some magical force.

The ceiling had been ripped open by some kind of a storm, and the sun had been too bright for me to see outside.

But the smell of fresh air was nothing compared to the damp and moist room. I was free, free for the first time. And I had light. I could see. I could use all my 5 senses. It felt otherworldly, almost magical. For the first time, I had tears of joy in my eyes.

I felt myself fall flat on the road side. It hurt.

It was scalding hot. There was no wind. The storm was nowhere to be seen. And I knew not of the force that had thrown me out of my confinement.

I tried to scramble away from the road. I knew my captors must be on my tail. So I tried to get up and run. But I couldn’t get up. My legs had turned to liquid.

I realized what had happened just then. I had been thrown from a height. Such a height that it had broken me.

Cars passed by nonchalantly, as if they couldn’t see me. People walked by, not giving a damn. And I just stayed there, spread out like butter.

And then a smell. It was the worst smell I had ever had the pleasure of in taking through my nose. And it was coming from me.

Had it been the smell of shit, I would’ve not cared. But it was not. It was the smell that accompanied curdling milk. Was I rotting?!

I fainted. I would never get up again.

The last thing I felt was a tongue lashing over my almost dead body. And whiskers.

*Part three: Peach – Outside

It was a cute family of four, walking along the skywalk.

The lady wore a beautiful red saree, an ice cream cone in her hand. She seemed happily chattering with the man beside her, holding her shopping bags and seeming equally entertained.

Her husband, the man with the bags, had one eye on his wife while the other on his kids. Two children, Jack and John aged 5 and 8 respectively , were giggling and laughing and jumping. Jack seemed a little frustrated but John seemed content.

While the parents walked behind, the mother oblivious while the father wary, Jack groaned. He had not been allowed ice cream. But it gave him pleasure that he had been allowed to consume one white tetra pack of something. Jack, being 5, had no idea what was inside. It seemed new. And his brother, John, was also holding one pack.

Jack felt proud of himself. He was a big boy now. He had been allowed to walk by himself. Below him, cars sped by. Vroom.

“I have boo boo, you don’t” Jack teased John. Despite of being the younger one, Jack still was always the one to taunt his brother. But John was the calm of the two.

He simply said “Of course not. I have one too.” John was chuckling now.

“No you don’t!” Jack retorted, screamed for his mom and lunged for John’s hand.

“Leave it alone!” said their father. He was rushing to get hold of Jack. Jack had, in process of lunging on John, dropped his tetra pack. Its contents were now all split on the road below them.

“There goes your cold lassi. I told you to be careful!”

The mother took hold of one kid, the father the troublesome other, and together, the family of four walked home.

Below them, a cat purred softly. On the sidewalk of the road, she had found dinner.

Heya Bleedsters!

It has been too long since I flexed my creative muscles. So I decided to use them. And, the result, is this. This crazy, confusing, crappy story.

You might probably be dumbfounded by the purpose of this story. Well, a friend of mine gave three random words (heat, skywalk and cold lassi) and asked me to weave a story out of them.

Enjoy!

Love,

K.

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images, from my own personal collection or some other sources (which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise). Contact me if you want it removed.

“You can do it,” said the old man. He had a strained voice from all the crying. He sounded like he meant it.

But I knew the truth!

I never cared when they laughed at me. I never cared when they pointed at me, stared at me or whispered bad things about me. I always found a way to not let their judgemental looks affect me. And when many acted cruel and cold towards me because of my poverty, I shrugged it off.

But when they comforted me, teared up for me and hugged me, I got offended. And I almost lost my cool.

Because I knew it was all a lie.

That’s odd. Isn’t that what I always wanted? Someone to care about me? Someone to support my actions, show faith in me, even pity me in a loving way inspite of my poor background? And didn’t I repeat to myself, when I was younger, that someday someone would care about me… And that they would make all my problems go away?

I stood in the center of it all, looking up their faces. They were staring back, some with comforting looks, others teary-eyed and pitiful. The light over my head shone so bright. It hurt my eyes, but I was adamant. I wanted to look back into their eyes. To see it all. To realize something I never thought I would have to face.

He was happy. Euphoric, even. One of his innermost dreams had been realized.

As he steadied his hand on the mouse, he re-read the email once again. It bore the crisp words:

‘You have been selected as an audience member for our show Rely Maro presents Music Gaana Superstar on the 2nd of Feb. You id number is 216. Please grace us with your presence at 10 in the morning at…’ followed by the address.

Mr 216 yelped in pleasure, fist-pumped the air, and danced around his apartment in his boxer shorts. He could hardly believe the email. He was going on his favourite music competition show!

The day arrived. Mr 216 woke up very early, as he wanted to be ready for the occasion. He texted his family on his WhatsApp group, telling them he was getting ready to go.

He reached the place specified in the email, completed the formalities, and finally plopped himself down in the hugely comfortable chair.

He craned his neck around, trying to breathe in the whole thing. The judges sat in the middle, right in front of the stage. Big blue spotlights flashed on them. They were currently surrounded by their make up artists and crew. The director of the show seemed to be giving them some instructions. The female judge seemed to be focused more on the mirror in front of her than the words of the director. The older male judge, a sharp man in his 60s, was checking his mic, but he seemed to be the only one listening. The third judge, another popular singer and a young man, was pretending to listen, but was more focused on waving at his fans in the audience. Mr 216, a fan himself, tried to catch his attention but the third judge was looking the other way.

Mr 216 felt elated. He was seeing celebrities up close. And he was going to be listening to music. To real life music. And perhaps also be on TV.

It took 2 more hours to set everything up, an hour after that to hand out clear instructions (a screen above the audience would display emotions and the audience had to emote them. For example, it the screen flashed ‘Sighs’, the audience had to dramatically, well, sigh. Then there were other cues like ‘Laugh’, ‘Silence’, ‘Commercial’ and ‘Applause’.)

The show began another hour after that as everyone took positions. The contestants were sitting on their benches, the judges were ready, the host – a beautiful anchor in a one piece – took the stage, and so it began.

The experience was something different. Mr 216 decided that it was better to watch the music show on TV than in real life, because the real life TV show shooting was harrowing. The judges took their time in beginning their practiced speeches, the singers would make mistakes which would have to be repeated, the anchor would sometimes fumble with her punchlines, which would result in reshoots as well…

And then came the music. Since he was sitting in the fifth row, Mr 216 could not really see the singers well. There were big screens behind the singers that showed the faces of the singers, but that, Mr 216 thought, could’ve easily been accomplished at home.

He sighed. He was halfway through the now boring music show, when the next singer climbed the stage.

She was an unusual contestant. Being a thin, slightly stooping woman who looked a lot older than the rest of the contestants, she still managed to walk with grace and stand with poise. Her face was sallow and sunken, her hair halfway between gray and black. Her spectacles were thick and round. Her smile revealed crooked teeth but it was a sweet smile nevertheless. On her face was hope and elation. Something told Mr 216 that this day was the happiest day of the woman’s life.

She smiled broadly as the audience clapped hard. The anchor hugged the woman and looked at the judges, and the camera.

“So after that marvelous break, we are back with a bang. Our next contestant is the aged, but beautiful singer from the small village of-” (Mr 216 didn’t catch the name as it was long and complicated) “- Shalu auntie….”

The audience cheered and clapped more fervently. Whistles, hoots and cheers filled the air, but it seemed voluminous, especially for such a small audience. This is when Mr 216 knew how fake the noises were.

Mr 216 waited for Shalu to sing, and Shalu seemed to be waiting for same, but the anchor continued “Shalu auntie is here today to sing in front of you for the first time ever, but not before going through hell. Yes, Shalu auntie has experienced a lot many ups and downs in her life to reach this point. Shalu auntie, we feel so strongly about your history. And welcome you to our stage!”

More claps. The audience cheered on. The anchor smiled gracefully, her face radiant on cue. Shalu looked at her, and smiled some more.

“Let’s take a look…” said the anchor, and the screen behind her transitioned from weird wavy patterns of colour to a montage of Shalu’s tough past.

Mr 216 watched as the narrator of the montage explained “Shalini Parikh was born 48 years back in a small village in Maharashtra. Born to a father of 3 girls and 2 boys, she was raised by her parents in a poor household. Her father worked as a rickshaw driver while her mother taught at the local school, earning only enough to feed half her children.

“So when Shalu, now 4 and underfed, was about to turn 5, her parents welcomed another son into their home. And as a result of this, Shalu found herself in an even poorer circumstance. At the age of 9, her father died of a heart attack and her mother had to now bear the burden of 7 children on a meagre teacher’s salary. Meanwhile, Shalu had begun taking care of her siblings, whilst also showing an interest in singing.

“Finally, tragedy struck at the Parikh household when her mother, now unable to bear the troubles of 7 children, killed herself, taking 2 of the eldest daughters with her. Shalu, now only left with 4 siblings, struggled all her life to make ends meet. Never married, Shalu left her passion for music behind as she fought against destiny to live… To survive. And today, we have given her a chance to regain her love for her passion…”

Mr 216 yawned. He actually yawned, as the montage ended. He had heard such sob stories a lot of times before. He didn’t care about them, because he knew that every reality show, and a music show at that, showed atleast one sad dramatic story to gain viewers. It sickened him.

But he had to applaud. Because that’s what the screen said. So he tried to finger in eyes into tearing up, dawned the most somber face he could muster, and clapped in false sorrow. The audience accompanied him. Even the judged were now crying openly, although artificially. And that too only because the camera was on them. Shalu shed a tear too, looking sad. She wiped it off. Even the anchor hugged her.

“You can do it,” said one of the judges in a fake brittle voice and Shalu smiled and nodded at them. The female judge got up, approached Shalu, spoke some words of kindness and hugged her too. She returned back to her seat just as the anchor left the stage. And Shalu began to sing.

SHALU

I finished the song, but I didn’t care anymore. Their faces has changed my perspective. I didn’t care about the prize money. I knew I wouldn’t win it anyways. Because reality was staring at my face.

When I had been selected to be a participant in this singing competition, I had thought it was my skill. I had believed it was my daily routing of stringent practicing singing that had won me this chance. But I knew better now. It had been my past, my colourful, pitiful past, that had grabbed their attention.

I screamed into the mic. My smile had vanished. I looked directly at the judges.

“So that’s why you chose me, isn’t it. Because of my father. Because of my mother. Because of my dead sisters. Because of my 4 siblings in this audience. Because you think it will garner sympathy. And that’s what will drive votes. Drive viewership.

“I had come here to sing for someone appreciates music. Who wants to give my music a try! But instead, I have come here for my story. For sympathy. I don’t want it. I don’t need it. Go to hell.”

I saw myself throwing the mic at the judges and walking off. Even though my hip was still weak, in my mind I could do anything.

But it wasn’t true. It was just something staged in my mind. Something I wanted to do, but definitely did not have the guts to. I felt sick in my stomach, because I knew I would have to comply. This was not a live show. And if I had said those things, I would be thrown out, the amount promised to me would be forgotten and everything would be over. I couldn’t let that happen.

And so, I did the most logical thing I could think of.

AUDIENCE MEMBER #216

Shalu finished singing, and was met with applause almost at once. Even Mr 216 had to admit that for an old frail lady like this one, Shalu was gifted.

And so, when the judges had given passed their judgements, praised Shalu’s voice, she smiled brightly. But this time, something was different. Her seemingly warm smile did not meet her cold eyes. It was wrong. It felt misplaced, the smile.

Mr 216 shook his head.

SHALU

I left the stage and the moment I did, I was handed the money and thrown out. I didn’t understand at first. Why was this happening to me? I had gotten great votes from the judges. Everyone had liked my performance, and yet, I was being forced out.

I yelled at them, but they didn’t care. They explained how this was a one time thing, and how the viewership had declined once they had eliminated Miss Roxanne Dhillon last week.

My short reel life was all they needed.

Dear Bleedsters,

This story is something I thought of while actually watching its real counterpart. At the moment of writing this, I am slightly sleep deprived because of which this may not be the best version of this story. I also do not claim to be an expert at knowing how these shows work behind the scenes. So excuse the inaccuracies there. Other than that, enjoy!

Love,

K

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images, from my own personal collection or some other sources (which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise). Contact me if you want it removed.

And remember your family, friends and good things like love having a place in your life!

This poem is a one shot and a one short! It is dedicated to and inspired by a friend of mine, who literally suggested the first line of this post. To my friend, Miss Messi Missi.

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images, from my own personal collection or some other sources (which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise). Contact me if you want it removed.